I've never known quite how to feel about the Fourth. I've always had a hard time understanding patriotism in the context of a country as big as the United States. What does it mean to be patriotic to a country that's a conglomerate of hundreds of languages, ethnicities, and cultures? Patriotism means being loyal to a particular thing, and you can't be loyal to something you don't understand. What does it mean, in essence, to be American?
The cliche answer, of course, is freedom. But the longer I live, the more pessimistic I become about our American idea of freedom. It seems to me to be more rhetoric than reality. Don't get me wrong; I'm grateful for the Constitution and the freedoms we're guaranteed. I understand the difference between, say, freedom of speech--the freedom to write what I'm writing right now, for instance, and not be worried that I'll be arrested for it because it's viewed as a criticism of the government--and the lack of it. I've glimpsed the fear that comes from not knowing what accidental word might get you in trouble, or what neighbor might be spying on you to see if you let slip something that could be subversive. But a guarantee of basic human rights, which is pretty much what our freedoms amount to, does not a country make. Freedom alone does not inspire true patriotism.
It was G.K. Chesterton who made me realize this, because I don't think I ever heard real patriotism expressed by anyone in my own community. I don't think Americans understand what it means to be loyal to something without a reason. For the most part, I think we Americans are loyal for a reason. We are loyal because we like our freedoms and our independence; we like the ideals that our country was founded on. But countries with longer histories can be loyal without reason. Chesterton writes of love without reason, of being patriotic to England simply because she is England. Better yet, he writes of loyalty to a specific place, a place you can really understand because it's small enough to comprehend. He said that the man who lives in one neighborhood his whole life actually understand the stranger on the other side of the world better than the cosmopolitan who has traveled everywhere, because he is concerned with universal concerns that all men share. He is focused on his own home and family; he worries about the rain and the crops and the baby, just as the simple man on the other side of the planet does. He lives in a smaller town, but a larger world. We Americans are all cosmopolitans, and our own world is too big for us to believe in the largeness of the universe.
I feel like I'm dancing around what I'm trying to say here, but what I really mean is this. True patriotism, deep loyalty to place, can only be felt and expressed toward a place that's small enough to understand. America is too big for me to love. I can love Atlanta--though I don't, much, but I'm working on it--or Harrisonburg or maybe even Virginia. I can love a city, maybe a state: a place small enough to have its own character and its own culture. I can admire America, but she's too big for me to really love.
So while I can celebrate the fact that we're no longer a colony of Britain, I find it hard to celebrate America as such. The victories of smaller places will always be sweeter to me.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Top Ten Ways to be an Extreme Green: #2: An Amendum for Women Only
I really should have included this idea in the post along with cloth diapers and labeled it something like "stop using disposable products." But I decided that this one really deserves its own post. So men, well, you might want to stop reading now.
Ladies, this is one we all have to deal with. I tried this a few years ago and didn't have much luck with it--I think I got the wrong size, and it kept leaking. But when my period came back recently (fifteen months after my baby was born), well, I guess it was the cloth diapers that got me thinking. I've come to feel that disposable diapers are just gross--smelly, strange, funny looking. And suddenly I felt the same way about disposable pads.
Much to my delight, I discovered there's a store in Atlanta where you can actually buy reusable menstrual products, here. So I went there and got the bigger size Diva cup, and a couple of cloth pads for good measure. And wow. This is so much fun. I have never said this in my life, but I'm actually looking forward to my next period. The cup isn't gross at all--it's fun and easy and it only takes a few seconds to deal with. And--completely unlike a tampon--it only has to be changed a couple of times a day. It's like not even having your period. Why did I take so long to switch to this?
Guys, I know you're grossed out right now. But I told you not to read this one.
Ladies, this is one we all have to deal with. I tried this a few years ago and didn't have much luck with it--I think I got the wrong size, and it kept leaking. But when my period came back recently (fifteen months after my baby was born), well, I guess it was the cloth diapers that got me thinking. I've come to feel that disposable diapers are just gross--smelly, strange, funny looking. And suddenly I felt the same way about disposable pads.
Much to my delight, I discovered there's a store in Atlanta where you can actually buy reusable menstrual products, here. So I went there and got the bigger size Diva cup, and a couple of cloth pads for good measure. And wow. This is so much fun. I have never said this in my life, but I'm actually looking forward to my next period. The cup isn't gross at all--it's fun and easy and it only takes a few seconds to deal with. And--completely unlike a tampon--it only has to be changed a couple of times a day. It's like not even having your period. Why did I take so long to switch to this?
Guys, I know you're grossed out right now. But I told you not to read this one.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
earth day in Atlanta
Tomorrow is Earth Day, and although most of the Atlanta stuff happened last weekend, there are still a few things you can do to celebrate tomorrow. The Botanical Gardens has half-price admission and events all day to celebrate, and of course Atlantic Station has an upscale evening event that sounds exciting and modern (and pricey). I won't be going to any of those, but I might try to make it to Zoo Atlanta's events this weekend.
Or I might just stay home and watch The Eleventh Hour and try to recover from the cold that's been dogging me all week.
Or I might just stay home and watch The Eleventh Hour and try to recover from the cold that's been dogging me all week.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
another video: a composting robot
I guess it's youtube weekend here at The Christian Environmentalist. I got this link from a friend and couldn't resist posting it. How cool is this? I know, I know, I'm a gadget girl...and this is really not that green...but I can't help but want one.
Luckily, my husband is more sensible and told me that we can compost perfectly well with a pail of worms.
Luckily, my husband is more sensible and told me that we can compost perfectly well with a pail of worms.
if you get rid of your car...
You could always do this:
I've ridden one of these before. It's pretty fun. But I still like biking better.
I've ridden one of these before. It's pretty fun. But I still like biking better.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Top Ten Ways to be an Extreme Green: #3: change the way you eat
The issue of food has been one of my biggest environmental concerns for a while now. (I think it started when I read The Omnivore's Dilemma.) Not only because it's so important for the environment, but really because it's just important, period. In modern western society, we've become disconnected from the significance of food. We simply don't think about food any more. At best, we think about whether food is healthy, or fattening, or expensive. We forget that for most of human history, the primary concern of all humans has been getting enough to eat.
Food has always been important from a spiritual perspective, too. Christians have just finished (or are now finishing, depending on what calendar you use) the season of Lent, one of the great fasts of the church year. But in America, hardly any churches actually keep a fast any more; if they do, it usually involves simply "giving something up" for Lent, usually something like chocolate or Coke or computers. It no longer means a true fast from food. But the early church followed strict dietary recommendations of abstaining from meat, dairy, and alcohol--foods that were more expensive, more luxurious, and more enjoyable. The Orthodox Church still follows this regime, recommending a vegan diet, not only for Lent, but for numerous shorter fasts as well that amount to nearly half the year. But for the most part, modern Christians have disconnected the idea of fasting from the reality of food. It's too physical, too basic, too obvious to have a spiritual value in our minds.
But the truth is that eating is one of the primary ways we interact with ourselves and with our environment. We are part of the food chain, whether we like it or not. Eating is the most central, basic way that we play a part in our local ecosystem.
Except, of course, that for most of us, the food we eat has nothing to do with our local ecosystem. The average plate of food in America has traveled around 1,500 miles before it's eaten. It uses fossil fuels at every step of its existence: as fertilizer while it's growing, as fuel while it's traveling, as plastic in packaging, and as heat when it's cooked. Our food system is one of our top contributors to global warming, to pollution, and to our disconnection from the environment.
So how can we eat in a way that's more sustainable?
First, of course, you can eat local. Alisa Smith and J.B. McKinnon wrote The Hundred-Mile Diet, a book about their experience of eating locally for a year. They defined local, obviously, as within a hundred miles from their home. Barbara Kingsolver wrote about a similar experiment in Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. Reading about families who tried this experiment will make you realize what an undertaking it would be as a way of life. Eating local means cutting out many foods that are ubiquitous in the American diet; it means eating in season, when many city-dwellers don't even know what foods are in season when. But the benefits are extraordinary. Changing your eating habits will change the way you think about yourself: you will recognize that you are part of a system, part of nature, dependent on the patterns of nature and the grace of God.
If you want to go even farther toward sustainability than local eating will take you, you can also eat vegan. Meat, no matter how free-range, organic, or sustainably raised, is a more energy-intensive way to obtain food than fruits and vegetables. The lower on the food chain that you eat, the less energy was required for your food. It takes a lot of grass to make a cow, but it takes only sunlight and soil to make a potato. And even though it takes a lot of potatoes (around 4,000) to equal the calories you'd get from a cow, the land required--and the drain on the land--is still less for the potatoes.
Finally, if you want to be extremely green, you can eat raw. My friend Stephanie is a great example of this. She doesn't eat completely raw (although she does eat vegan), but she's come up with a simple way to reduce how much she cooks: she turns off the gas service. She saves money by not having a gas bill, but since her stove is gas, she also ends up cooking a lot less. She has an electric hot plate and a skillet, but they're more difficult to use. So she creates more raw meals. Raw food is healthier, and, of course, it doesn't use any energy to cook.
Of course, you can use these ideas sparingly without becoming an environmental nazi about your food. You can eat more local food; you can skip meat once or twice a week; you can eat an occasional raw meal. Or, you could combine all these ideas and eat only local, vegan, raw food, all the time. Which I guess that would make you a hunter-gatherer--or actually, just a gatherer. To be honest, I think it would also make you hungry all the time. At least it would make me hungry. But hey, at least cleaning the kitchen would be easy.
Food has always been important from a spiritual perspective, too. Christians have just finished (or are now finishing, depending on what calendar you use) the season of Lent, one of the great fasts of the church year. But in America, hardly any churches actually keep a fast any more; if they do, it usually involves simply "giving something up" for Lent, usually something like chocolate or Coke or computers. It no longer means a true fast from food. But the early church followed strict dietary recommendations of abstaining from meat, dairy, and alcohol--foods that were more expensive, more luxurious, and more enjoyable. The Orthodox Church still follows this regime, recommending a vegan diet, not only for Lent, but for numerous shorter fasts as well that amount to nearly half the year. But for the most part, modern Christians have disconnected the idea of fasting from the reality of food. It's too physical, too basic, too obvious to have a spiritual value in our minds.
But the truth is that eating is one of the primary ways we interact with ourselves and with our environment. We are part of the food chain, whether we like it or not. Eating is the most central, basic way that we play a part in our local ecosystem.
Except, of course, that for most of us, the food we eat has nothing to do with our local ecosystem. The average plate of food in America has traveled around 1,500 miles before it's eaten. It uses fossil fuels at every step of its existence: as fertilizer while it's growing, as fuel while it's traveling, as plastic in packaging, and as heat when it's cooked. Our food system is one of our top contributors to global warming, to pollution, and to our disconnection from the environment.
So how can we eat in a way that's more sustainable?
First, of course, you can eat local. Alisa Smith and J.B. McKinnon wrote The Hundred-Mile Diet, a book about their experience of eating locally for a year. They defined local, obviously, as within a hundred miles from their home. Barbara Kingsolver wrote about a similar experiment in Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. Reading about families who tried this experiment will make you realize what an undertaking it would be as a way of life. Eating local means cutting out many foods that are ubiquitous in the American diet; it means eating in season, when many city-dwellers don't even know what foods are in season when. But the benefits are extraordinary. Changing your eating habits will change the way you think about yourself: you will recognize that you are part of a system, part of nature, dependent on the patterns of nature and the grace of God.
If you want to go even farther toward sustainability than local eating will take you, you can also eat vegan. Meat, no matter how free-range, organic, or sustainably raised, is a more energy-intensive way to obtain food than fruits and vegetables. The lower on the food chain that you eat, the less energy was required for your food. It takes a lot of grass to make a cow, but it takes only sunlight and soil to make a potato. And even though it takes a lot of potatoes (around 4,000) to equal the calories you'd get from a cow, the land required--and the drain on the land--is still less for the potatoes.
Finally, if you want to be extremely green, you can eat raw. My friend Stephanie is a great example of this. She doesn't eat completely raw (although she does eat vegan), but she's come up with a simple way to reduce how much she cooks: she turns off the gas service. She saves money by not having a gas bill, but since her stove is gas, she also ends up cooking a lot less. She has an electric hot plate and a skillet, but they're more difficult to use. So she creates more raw meals. Raw food is healthier, and, of course, it doesn't use any energy to cook.
Of course, you can use these ideas sparingly without becoming an environmental nazi about your food. You can eat more local food; you can skip meat once or twice a week; you can eat an occasional raw meal. Or, you could combine all these ideas and eat only local, vegan, raw food, all the time. Which I guess that would make you a hunter-gatherer--or actually, just a gatherer. To be honest, I think it would also make you hungry all the time. At least it would make me hungry. But hey, at least cleaning the kitchen would be easy.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Top Ten Ways to be an Extreme Green: #2: babies, the environment, and human waste
Lately it seems like I've come across a lot of moms who are concerned about environmental issues. I think a lot of people start to think about these concerns for the first time when they have children. Partly, of course, it's because you start to really think about what the earth will be like for future generations when those future generations have a face. But I think it's also because moms have to deal with environmental issues more than most people. Moms need convenience. They buy food in kid-sized servings with lots of packaging; they are constantly tempted by more plastic toys; and, of course, they deal with the diaper problem. And so my second way to be an extreme green is geared for moms: it's the extreme environmentalist answer to the great diaper debate.
My biggest environmental concern when I was pregnant was, without a doubt, the diaper question. I searched endlessly for an answer to the debate of cloth vs. disposable. No matter how many life-cycle studies I saw (most of them funded by Proctor and Gamble, who owns Pampers) claiming that "compostable" disposable diapers are actually better for the environment than cloth, I didn't believe it. I just couldn't bring myself to buy the argument that something that's meant to be thrown away was better for the environment than something that could be endlessly reused. And besides, cloth is cheaper. But the idea of actually washing poopy diapers myself for the next three years was intimidating at best, and in the midst of Atlanta's water crisis, I couldn't help but wonder whether maybe disposables might be better in our situation, after all. And the studies did say that energy and water use is more efficient with a diaper service than with home washing--but there were no diapers services in Atlanta at the time I was pregnant. Believe me. I looked. (Now that I'm an accomplished cloth diapering mom who loves washing diapers, of course this has started up.)
And then one day, as I searched the internet, I came across a link about "diaper-free babies." Diaper free? I was intrigued. I clicked, and soon I knew I'd found the answer. Like every riddle, the solution is obvious once you see it, but it requires a paradigm shift, an entirely new way of thinking about the problem.
As it turns out, "diaper free" is a bit of an exaggeration. According to Ingrid Bauer, the author of Diaper Free: The Gentle Wisdom of Natural Infant Hygiene, babies who are "diaper-free" from birth nevertheless continue to need backup at least until they're around four or five months old. In countries where diapers are unavailable--which actually includes most of the world--that backup might be as simple as an extra layer of clothing, or a towel. For western moms, it's usually a cloth diaper. But still. Compare that to the average American child, who's wearing diapers full-time until the age of three.
At first, it seemed too good to be true. According to Bauer, you can learn to know when your baby needs to pee. When you think it's time, you just take them to a toilet (or a bowl, or a bush, or any location you choose), hold them in a squatting position, and make a hissing sound, and they will quickly learn to recognize that as a cue for eliminating. Some people call it "elimination communication," because it's not really potty training at all, but rather a two-way process of communicating in which the parent learns to recognize the baby's signals and the baby learns to understand the parent's cues. Much like breastfeeding, in which the mom learns to recognize the baby's signals for hunger, and the baby learns to latch on and suck. It makes so much sense, and yet it seemed so outrageous and difficult to me. I, after all, wore diapers till I was nearly four!
But, after reading extensively, I decided to try this strange practice. What, after all, did I have to lose? I got myself a stash of cloth diapers and a tiny washing machine and drying rack to use as back up, so I could wash diapers as efficiently as possible. And I figured that even if I only saved one or two diapers a day by trying to "catch pees" in the toilet, well, that was one less diaper to wash.
And after over a year of trying it full-time, I can say with confidence that "EC'ing" is every bit as easy as Bauer claimed. Yes, I have gotten peed on--but what mom hasn't? Yes, I've gotten pee on my floor--but that would happen with potty training at any age, so not a question of whether, only of when. And I've also discovered that the benefits of this method go far beyond the environmental.
From as young as a month old, it became a rare oddity for my baby to poo in her diaper. At two months old, she was frequently staying dry for four or five hours at a time, and I could sometimes use as few as two or three diapers a day. Now at thirteen months, she frequently wears underwear at home and usually only pees in her diaper two or three times a day. Although things like teething and developmental milestones always cause a break in our success at staying dry, I've never had to wash diapers more than every two or three days--which is less often than most moms need to wash clothes. So the environmental benefits are obvious: I'm saving water, I'm saving trees, and I'm putting waste where it belongs. Now if only I had a composting toilet...
But the benefits, as I said, go far beyond that. It wasn't until I gave birth that I realized how disconnected I've been, for most of my life, from my body. In our culture, bodily waste is something shameful and gross, something we avoid at all costs and think about as little as possible. But the reality is that our waste is part of a marvelous design. We eat food that grows from the land, and our bodies process the food, and what we don't need comes out of our bodies and--ideally--goes back to the land. Becoming aware--or, in my baby's case, simply staying aware--of this process is part of living in harmony with how we are created, and the world we were created in. It's not for nothing that Genesis tells us we were formed from the dirt.
We've developed a version of Christianity that seeks to gloss over the material side of creation. But the most beautiful thing about Christianity--something that sets it apart, in my mind, from many other religions--is the fact that it doesn't gloss over material things. Only in Christianity was God truly made man. We don't often think about Jesus going to the bathroom. But surely there wasn't anything "dirty" about His waste.
And, too, there is a spiritual discipline in learning to be so aware of my baby's needs. Many spiritual fathers have spoken of the importance of being fully in the present moment as a spiritual discipline. And all parents know that the mere act of caring for a child, of serving them unselfishly, offers opportunities for spiritual growth. But being aware of when my baby needs to go to the bathroom requires a focus on the present that is unlike that required by any of my other tasks in caring for her. You can't lose focus, even for a moment. You can never stop caring, never stop being aware.
And yet--as with all spiritual disciplines, it only sounds hard until you try it. It is hard, yes, especially in a culture where no one else is doing it. But changing poopy diapers isn't exactly my idea of easy, either. And communicating with my baby is fun. Nobody ever fought with their partner for the chance to change a poopy diaper. But "peeing the baby" can be a thrill. Babysitters want to try it. Friends are intrigued. Family wants to watch, as though it's some kind of party trick. And even though plenty of my friends think I'm crazy and extreme, the truth is that, as with every valuable discipline, the rewards of EC are much, much greater than the challenge it presents. I mention this practice in my list of ways to be an extreme green because in our culture, it is pretty extreme. But I wish it were normal. After a year of doing it, it feel like normal to me: I can't imagine raising a baby any other way.
My biggest environmental concern when I was pregnant was, without a doubt, the diaper question. I searched endlessly for an answer to the debate of cloth vs. disposable. No matter how many life-cycle studies I saw (most of them funded by Proctor and Gamble, who owns Pampers) claiming that "compostable" disposable diapers are actually better for the environment than cloth, I didn't believe it. I just couldn't bring myself to buy the argument that something that's meant to be thrown away was better for the environment than something that could be endlessly reused. And besides, cloth is cheaper. But the idea of actually washing poopy diapers myself for the next three years was intimidating at best, and in the midst of Atlanta's water crisis, I couldn't help but wonder whether maybe disposables might be better in our situation, after all. And the studies did say that energy and water use is more efficient with a diaper service than with home washing--but there were no diapers services in Atlanta at the time I was pregnant. Believe me. I looked. (Now that I'm an accomplished cloth diapering mom who loves washing diapers, of course this has started up.)
And then one day, as I searched the internet, I came across a link about "diaper-free babies." Diaper free? I was intrigued. I clicked, and soon I knew I'd found the answer. Like every riddle, the solution is obvious once you see it, but it requires a paradigm shift, an entirely new way of thinking about the problem.
As it turns out, "diaper free" is a bit of an exaggeration. According to Ingrid Bauer, the author of Diaper Free: The Gentle Wisdom of Natural Infant Hygiene, babies who are "diaper-free" from birth nevertheless continue to need backup at least until they're around four or five months old. In countries where diapers are unavailable--which actually includes most of the world--that backup might be as simple as an extra layer of clothing, or a towel. For western moms, it's usually a cloth diaper. But still. Compare that to the average American child, who's wearing diapers full-time until the age of three.
At first, it seemed too good to be true. According to Bauer, you can learn to know when your baby needs to pee. When you think it's time, you just take them to a toilet (or a bowl, or a bush, or any location you choose), hold them in a squatting position, and make a hissing sound, and they will quickly learn to recognize that as a cue for eliminating. Some people call it "elimination communication," because it's not really potty training at all, but rather a two-way process of communicating in which the parent learns to recognize the baby's signals and the baby learns to understand the parent's cues. Much like breastfeeding, in which the mom learns to recognize the baby's signals for hunger, and the baby learns to latch on and suck. It makes so much sense, and yet it seemed so outrageous and difficult to me. I, after all, wore diapers till I was nearly four!
But, after reading extensively, I decided to try this strange practice. What, after all, did I have to lose? I got myself a stash of cloth diapers and a tiny washing machine and drying rack to use as back up, so I could wash diapers as efficiently as possible. And I figured that even if I only saved one or two diapers a day by trying to "catch pees" in the toilet, well, that was one less diaper to wash.
And after over a year of trying it full-time, I can say with confidence that "EC'ing" is every bit as easy as Bauer claimed. Yes, I have gotten peed on--but what mom hasn't? Yes, I've gotten pee on my floor--but that would happen with potty training at any age, so not a question of whether, only of when. And I've also discovered that the benefits of this method go far beyond the environmental.
From as young as a month old, it became a rare oddity for my baby to poo in her diaper. At two months old, she was frequently staying dry for four or five hours at a time, and I could sometimes use as few as two or three diapers a day. Now at thirteen months, she frequently wears underwear at home and usually only pees in her diaper two or three times a day. Although things like teething and developmental milestones always cause a break in our success at staying dry, I've never had to wash diapers more than every two or three days--which is less often than most moms need to wash clothes. So the environmental benefits are obvious: I'm saving water, I'm saving trees, and I'm putting waste where it belongs. Now if only I had a composting toilet...
But the benefits, as I said, go far beyond that. It wasn't until I gave birth that I realized how disconnected I've been, for most of my life, from my body. In our culture, bodily waste is something shameful and gross, something we avoid at all costs and think about as little as possible. But the reality is that our waste is part of a marvelous design. We eat food that grows from the land, and our bodies process the food, and what we don't need comes out of our bodies and--ideally--goes back to the land. Becoming aware--or, in my baby's case, simply staying aware--of this process is part of living in harmony with how we are created, and the world we were created in. It's not for nothing that Genesis tells us we were formed from the dirt.
We've developed a version of Christianity that seeks to gloss over the material side of creation. But the most beautiful thing about Christianity--something that sets it apart, in my mind, from many other religions--is the fact that it doesn't gloss over material things. Only in Christianity was God truly made man. We don't often think about Jesus going to the bathroom. But surely there wasn't anything "dirty" about His waste.
And, too, there is a spiritual discipline in learning to be so aware of my baby's needs. Many spiritual fathers have spoken of the importance of being fully in the present moment as a spiritual discipline. And all parents know that the mere act of caring for a child, of serving them unselfishly, offers opportunities for spiritual growth. But being aware of when my baby needs to go to the bathroom requires a focus on the present that is unlike that required by any of my other tasks in caring for her. You can't lose focus, even for a moment. You can never stop caring, never stop being aware.
And yet--as with all spiritual disciplines, it only sounds hard until you try it. It is hard, yes, especially in a culture where no one else is doing it. But changing poopy diapers isn't exactly my idea of easy, either. And communicating with my baby is fun. Nobody ever fought with their partner for the chance to change a poopy diaper. But "peeing the baby" can be a thrill. Babysitters want to try it. Friends are intrigued. Family wants to watch, as though it's some kind of party trick. And even though plenty of my friends think I'm crazy and extreme, the truth is that, as with every valuable discipline, the rewards of EC are much, much greater than the challenge it presents. I mention this practice in my list of ways to be an extreme green because in our culture, it is pretty extreme. But I wish it were normal. After a year of doing it, it feel like normal to me: I can't imagine raising a baby any other way.
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